


Journal for a Devil

by Rocketman23



Series: BATIM prompt drabbles [2]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, I have no idea how to tag, Its a lil angsty, Journal, but it might get better?, mcu/batim crossover yo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11850006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocketman23/pseuds/Rocketman23
Summary: So we all know that Henry is the main protag of the game but do we really know who Henry is?what happens when Bendy finds an old and hidden journal of one of his creators?what hidden truths will he find?Are you prepared to find out, Dear Reader?





	1. Lies Unbound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MsFaust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsFaust/gifts).



> apologies first of all, for taking so damn long to get this chapter out but please lemme explain;  
> i mostly had a whole different idea to what i've just written, it was meant to be a short lil fic but then i lost all my notes for it! (my laptop decided to have a breakdown) but then i came up with this really cool idea of, what if Henry left a journal back at the studio???  
> also there may still be some delay for fics because as i said, my laptop is trying to give up on life right now, so please be patient.  
> alsooooo i've never written journal entries before, but it was a fun experience, so any feedback that you could give me would be highly appreciated. 
> 
> and with that out of the way please enjoy the first chapter of Journal for a Devil!

Wet slaps echo throughout the damp and dull corridors, the maintenance of the building, surely but slowly, degrading over time as bits of flooring stuck out from its original home, the ceiling ever cascading copious amounts of dust onto an unlucky occupant as they move with a distorted grace. The effort causing not a single sound aside from the thumping of heavy ink as the creature dragged its broken body across partially rotted wooden flooring. His gaze hung heavily downwards, the occasional drop of ink falling from the mask of dark liquid that seemed to be a permanent fixture to the creatures face. But who is this creature you may ask? Why it is none other than the darling devil, crowning star of Drew studios, Bendy the Dancing Demon. Though from his nightmarish appearance one would never have been able to tell that this was indeed the lovable rubber hose cartoon that once swept the country with his mischievous adventures and whimsical nature. However, this was not the case anymore as the once beloved toon made his way through the unkempt studio.

This was his Kingdom after all. He knew every inch, every Knook and every cranny of the place but, for some reason or another this little prize, clasped firmly to his side with claws twitching at the effort of not being able to simply sink them into the hard leathery skin and rip the papery flesh apart, had managed to avoid his notice, which was unfathomable, because this was in a manner of speaking the last survivable piece of that traitorous creator, and oh how he wanted nothing more than to tear it to shreds. But he knew deep within its pages lay secrets unbound. And the prize was too sweet not to take for himself, to learn darker truth's than his devilish existence was truly, a good prize for a king. 

After taking several turns through the hellish domain, passing the still and silent ink machine on his way, its lack of noise and vague memories long dead drowned in their inky depths, trying to resurface and taunt the toon, he finally came to his chosen destination; the old music room. 

the room was as dishevelled as it always had been; music sheets strewn across the floor and grand piano (which also supported a cut-out version of the studio’s reigning star), broken stands placed to the far corner of the room so as not to become a distraction when that lunatic of a preacher came to write hymns in honour of his beloved ink god and the blood red inverted pentagram sitting centre stage with candles appointed on each of its points. At least Sammy still took care of most of the instruments that lay lifeless in the room, the dim candlelight reflecting off a nearby trumpet. Bendy took some solace in coming here, the faint echoes of long forgotten melodies still flowing through the room and knowing the inky fanatic that was Sammy, would be wondering the halls of the studio professing his undying devotion to his inky deity. That left plenty of time for Bendy to delve deep into the past thoughts of his previous creator, trapped within the book and ripe for his taking. 

He settled his ever melting body onto the cold wooden floor, scraping his claws over the hard leather of the book, that inscribed Henry’s last name upon it, before flipping the catch on the side, flicking the cover over and through his black murky gaze, began to read.

 

~0~

 

 

_23rd September, 1929_

 

_My day started as it usually does, woke up, ate breakfast (which mostly consisted of bacon than it did egg but I can’t survive long without a good helping of bacon!) and get ready for the nightmare I call a job. However I was not prepared for the day’s surprises and as I write this, wish that I had stayed naïve to it all._  
_It was raining, again, due to the autumn season making its self well known it had arrived, if the drop in temperature, gusts of wind and never relenting rain were anything to go by. The washing I had left out to dry the previous night I found dripping wet in the cold wind, I should really remember to bring my washing in at night, it would beat having to wear the same clothes three day’s straight. But I never have the time for it when I return home from the company, either finding myself falling asleep atop my bed or practising my drawing (usually the latter I must confess).The traffic was as much a drag as it always is, both lanes blocked with cars all honking at one another and the fumes emitted enough to take away any viable oxygen left in the air. It was made worse due to the rain, which apparently meant that everyone should go slower for some ungodly reason. The drive of course pulled multiple groans and a few uncouth swears from my mouth._  
_I had found myself thinking it ironic, I used to love listening to the rain, its steady thrum on the roof of the house a soothing lullaby for my overworked mind and the cool splashes I would feel on my bare skin a small comfort at having washed away the days stress. But now I only saw it as a hindrance and something to further dull the grey cloud that stubbornly followed me. Since joining the company it was as if all coloured had drained from my life and I was left with variations of saturated greys._

_The only reason I was up and out so early in the day was due to getting a call on the phone from a colleague I worked with. As it happened, the dearly beloved Darren Cross had failed to complete his report on the latest experiment we were working on (a gun that would shrink any object it was fired at, it was deemed a failure due to my theory on particles having an extra dimensional nature that would be able to shrink mass. Hank had said the theory was outdated and childish from a scientist’s point of view). So being the star that I was at filing paper work and writing needless reports, I had been called in to clean up Cross’s mess and hopefully save our team from a lecture from Hank Pym._  
_This has been an ongoing problem now, Cross seems to pawn most of his paper work off on other employee’s or mostly me. I’ve had my suspicions it’s due to him keeping me occupied whilst he gets up to no good. Jealous man that he is, he’s a good scientist and always comes up with interesting hypothesis’s and ideas, though he’s mostly an ass to me and always sucks up to Hank and continuously points out that a self-proclaimed artist (that’s me) has no place working among “Astute leaders”. HA! The guys a real piece of work, ever charismatic. And I’ve warned Hank multiple times about his attitude and work ethic but he just fires back that he’s a valued employee and that he does more work than I do around here. Or he just mostly ignores me._

_Which is weird, considering he is always barking at the employees to get work done or his favourite past time of barging into my office and yelling at me to stop wasting my time drawing which I only do on my breaks. So naturally I was concerned for Hanks mental wellbeing and so decided to find the source of his reserved irritation. Now I’m not one to spy but I had to know what had him so riled up and honestly, I was not prepared for the outcome._  
_I was going to investigate his office, if there were any indications as to why hank was acting so strange it would surely be found in his office. But as it turns I didn’t even get past the door, mostly because it was locked. So with that plan thrown out the window, I went to the next best place, his private lab._

_The good about being related to your boss is that you get level 5 access to the company, which means I managed to infiltrate his secret lab. I also had to disable the security cameras he had but after so many years of sneaking around Hank and his ever aggravated features, it became more or less a piece of cake._  
_Now Hank is a relatively tidy person, never seen with a hair out of place. However the same could not be said for the state of his lab._  
_I found it in perfect condition._  
_Which was bizarre for Hank because despite being so astutely perfect in most things, his lack of orderliness and cleanliness was otherworldly when he was working. I had expected papers strewn about the floor, glass vials sitting dangerously close to edge of his worktop and maybe the occasional puddle of some pinkish liquid (always pink for some reason). Instead I was met with polished floors, all tools sitting neatly in their shelves and the calm thrum of the air conditioner. It was obvious Hank was hiding something, so I investigated further and as I rounded one of the worktops I caught sight of a brown, and somewhat damp, folder laying on the floor. My curiosity was piqued so naturally I checked my surroundings and read the papers only to discover that the very man who had disregarded and mocked my Nano-particle theory, had in fact replicated all my work and, to my horrified surprise, had made a prototype of the damn stuff._

 

~0~

Bendy’s clawed hands traced the fine handwriting that seemed to flow from one end of the page to the next. So far he had not discovered much about himself but mostly about Henry, who worked for some high tech company before coming to work at the studio and that his family ran it. It had also appeared that Henry did not have the highest of regards for the company and its employees either. He had understood some phrases and mannerisms and even the detest for the Cross guy, he sounded like an ass, who made others finish his deadlines in a sense. Bendy had given soft growls to those parts, meeting deadlines were meant to be a team effort and not left to other people to clean up. He remembered those days when the animators would be rushing through the studio with various amounts of paper and ink in hand, the hallways always bustling with activity and conversation. How the soft lull of pen scratching against paper had, within a few days, turned into a spirited frenzy. 

And now it was lifeless and desolate place. Devoid of laughter and speech, all the things that had made bendy brim with joy and happiness (and at one point tears). It was all gone now and he had accepted it would be gone for good but he could not accept what his creator’s had done to him. He stared back at the page wherein henry had discovered he had been betrayed and turned the page, eager to see what he did next, only to find that most of the writing had been scribbled over with ink. Bendy had thought that was the last of the entry until he noticed, with some trepidation, a small line of writing at the bottom. As Bendy’s eyes read through the sloppily written line, he could feel the sorrow and loss ebbing from the words like a still bleeding wound. 

 

_He’s called them Pym particles_


	2. The Betrayal-The Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After discovering that Henry's once thought of brother, Hank Pym, has stolen his nano- particle theory and brought it to reality he goes to confront him on his nefarious deed but are the answers he receives for worse or better?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeey it's another update!

Dust motes fell from the decaying timber, catching in the vague candlelight they seemed to twirl and glimmer next to their partners, caught in an eternal dance. Until, passing down from the eerie glow and slower than time should allow, parted from their companions and lifelessly came to rest atop a knocked over banjo. Its body revealed spidery scratches harshly etched unto it, the strings that made up its fragrant voice severed from the middle and curled up away from the pain wrought on it. Nearby lay a torn sheet of music, the notes starting clear and gliding beautifully across the paper before transforming into an erratic and garbled mess, the notes overlapping and some parts being indecipherable. There are similar sheets surrounding the broken instrument, all following the same trend of being ripped with dark patches of ruddy ink staining them. 

Across from the irreparable destruction, sat our dear hell scape monster, bendy face transfixed upon the journal he held tightly in his grasp. He was confused. And it angered him. He was tired of being unable to grasp the brevity of the situation lain clear before him let alone the countless times something of a similar stature unfolding before his very person. But he was different back then; smaller, weaker and oh so naïve. He lets a low murderous growl shake through his body, droplets of ink falling heavily to the floor as his grip tightens so much on the journal that the pages crease and bend to his hatred. Bendy notices this and reigns in his anger. Not yet. He needed to know more before ripping the last thing of his creator to bloody, papery pieces.

~0~

 

_24th September, 1929_

_I confronted that bastard today. I took “his” damned notes to his office this morning and demanded he explain himself. He took a while to open the door, probably hiding more secrets, but when he did I barged past and slammed his notes on his desk and stood waiting for his reaction. It took him a while funnily, I don’t think he ever expected me to find out what he’d done. He calmly asked me how I got the notes and where from. That surprised me honestly, I expected more disbelief and anger but I was met with a calm demeanour. That pissed me off. I started yelling but the best hadn’t even happened yet! The slime ball had the nerve to state that all of it was his own work and that he intended to present as his own work. Apparently a weak link such as myself could never achieve something so grand and he was just saving me from future embarrassment. He said that the company was made of men of science, not self-proclaimed artists that only fabricated their work through little doodles, that I had no place being of so high a status in the company after all the failures I had turned out._

_I don’t remember much of what happened next, only that I had lunged for him, aiming for something, I was just so mad I needed him to understand the pain he had unleashed on me but he had dodged my poor excuse of an attack and instead I collided with his desk, resulting in my current head injury. The next thing I remember was being dragged away by security noticing Cross standing next to the man I once called a brother, a sly smile slowly morphing his features and an evil gleam evident as his eyes tracked my dragged and hunched form._

_Why?_

 

~0~

_26th September, 1929_

_So I got the news today, it seems like the surprises just keep on coming. I’ve been demoted. My lab license and security clearance have all been revoked and to rub salt into the wound my office has been moved to the floor 1, right next to the janitors cleaning room. This also means the “office” is ridiculously small and I have no room to do anything. And to make this whole ordeal worse, that Darren Cross has been promoted to Hanks protégée. That should’ve been me…. Hank and I have stopped talking too, which honestly is a blessing among all these lies. At least I no longer get shouted at._

_But, I trusted him. I left my dream of becoming an artist and joining a studio behind all so I could help the family company. And for what? All I got in return was a knife to the back and all my research stolen._

_I just want to know why._

~0~

A substantial amount of dust fell from the ceiling, accompanied by the familiar thump of Sammy’s footsteps. It appears Bendy had lost track of the anomaly known as time. He rose his oozing form from the floorboards, leaving behind an inky puddle as he lurched across the room and towards the door, journal secure in his grasp. He gave a final glance to the room, the long dead melodies resounding throughout the room seeming to grow louder and with a buzz as the crazed music director drew ever nearer. Bendy gave out a hissed sigh, not today, he had secrets to unlock and he had no desire to be seen by his number one and only fan and he really did not have the energy to deal with him either. As he turns to leave the room and enter into the spider web cloaked halls, the ringing songs die simultaneously and leave no indication as to there ever being any sound uttered in this abyss to begin with. That was better, silence was always better, this way Bendy could focus more on his thoughts and immediate surroundings. It was also easier for him to look through his cardboard cut-out eyes that seemed to fill every corner of the studio and find himself a safe and quiet place to read. Away from Sammy’s raving tones and the endless seams of memories that seemed to come undone by his mere presence alone. Initially, when had first come to be, he had found the tall unseeing versions of himself to be creepy and honestly just off putting, especially given how many Joey had made and put around the studio but Bendy had come to rather enjoy his other selves as time went on, they were very good for playing pranks on people but more importantly, he could see crystal clear through their dead gazes and so it made spying an easy feat.

After many minutes of walking, or in Bendy’s case dragging his gelatinous self, he had found the perfect room to, via searching through his cardboard selves, head to. As we made his way towards his chosen destination he could hear the faint shrill cry of Sammy, obviously having found the great puddle of ink Bendy had left behind, that should keep him occupied and in one place for a little while, hopefully. As Bendy entered the office he took notice of the lack of dishevelment, the only thing wrong with the room being the broken chair and, of course, ink stains gracing the walls, floor and desk. Bendy never understood why Sammy had kept this room so diligently “clean”, it only belonged to the long dead Susie Campbell after all. Bendy gives a huff, he doesn’t understand humans in the slightest but the journal had given some insight as to their behaviourisms. He closes the door behind him with a soft click and heads over to the partially rotted desk (seriously, what is it with this place and wood?) placing the journal upon the top and opening to where he had last read. 

~0~

 _3rd October, 1929_

_I did it. I actually managed to do it, I left the company. I handed in my notice of resignation, collected some things and… left. At first I was nervous and honestly a little scared, S.H.I.E.L.D. and the company are all I’ve ever known and now I’m free to do whatever I want with my life._

_There were a few goodbyes from my colleagues, mostly out of politeness I guess and I didn’t even bother going to Hank. Fuck him. Besides if I had, he would have caught on that I took some prototype particles, though he’ll probably catch on to it sooner or later anyways but I’ll be long gone by then._

_I don’t know where im going or what I’ll do but I know it’ll be a hell of a lot better than being stuck in that tiny office!_

_I’m finally going to live my life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey you made it to the end! (lookit you go!)  
> so did you enjoy the second installment? if ya did then leave a kudos and comment and tell me what ya think :D


	3. Bring Forth The Sweet Memories Of Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bendy reads more about his creator and sacrifices far more than he had intended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me FOREVER to write and id like to apologise for the slow update but hey its here now!  
> if i have made any mistakes please feel free to tell me ^_^

The studio sits silent, the cries of the prophet having died down to small, harsh whispers falling predator upon the crisp music sheets marked in ritualistic hymns, the slaps and thuds of heavy ink making their way down the decrepit halls, leaving the odd splotch on the walls or flooring, had now disappeared into the gloom of the place. The odd creak of the building could be heard on the occasion, as the foundation shifted or the cries from down below had reached the top floor but, those were best left for another day.

Our star peers his void optics up from the journal, taking more of the room in. true, the place was rather well organised and clean considering the state the rest of the studio was in, aside from a broken chair with two of its legs missing and the reoccurring theme of ink stains on all the walls and flooring, the room was well looked after. It surprised the demon that Sammy had even managed to retain any memories of Susie after what he had become or maybe, it was just a blind obligation to his lost loved one. How bittersweet, considering the raving lunatic hated the angel down below.

From what bendy could remember Susie had been quite a conundrum, very loud and bright and full of joy. And so very full of noise. At least, that’s what his other memories told him. He never much cared for the woman, toon or otherwise. And Alice had been no different, sweet and endearing, entrancing all who had come to watch her. It was funny to think how much she lied. 

The two were taken and torn from themselves that day, crawling from the screaming depths the ink machine had spat out, to become a new and horrifying being hell bent on becoming whole and perfect again. A futile endeavour he had thought, no being could become like themselves once entering this place. They were all living evidence of that. Alice was no longer Alice and Susie no longer Susie and neither were the angels they had been, rent from heaven by the cruel hands of Joey Drew. Bendy shuddered, or rippled in his case, reverting his covered gaze to the journal once more. He could no longer hear the ravenous cries of Sammy at having discovered his lord and saviour had visited the old music room. He was probably busy finding some use for the ink that had spilled from Bendy’s form in his haste to depart. You can only spend so many years listening to Sammy’s religious ravings before going a bit nuts yourself and bendy had far more important matters than lacerating his body to inky pieces. Journal still in hand, he flicks through a couple of pages, passing the entries on how Henry’s livelihood went after leaving the company. It doesn’t take long for him to find an interesting entry though, the pages coming to a stop at the day henry joined the studio.

~~0~~

_January 2nd 1930_

_Today has been a hitch, I finally got a reply to one of my applications! It’s at that small studio on the edge of town, Joey Drew studios, or well, technically it’s called silly vision studios but I guess was originally named after the owner himself. The job itself is as an animator at the studio, looks like things’ll be turning sunny soon enough for me!_

 

_The interview had gone surprisingly well, Mr Drew asked me the standard questions of why I wanted to join and whatnot and when the question of what my previous job was I was able to lie and say it was at some press company. I was pretty sure I was sweating at that point but Mr Drew kept a jovial smile and we continued on.  
I was also asked to demonstrate my drawing skills and draw the main character, Bendy, which caught me off guard but I’m never one to back down from a challenge. Mr Drew had gone quiet at this point clearly analysing my skills, it was kinda stressful but as I etched each line into the paper I began to calm, drawing has always been therapeutic for me and drawing this charming little guy was kinda fun . After having finished the drawing I was heavily praised for the work, receiving compliment after compliment, and a few critiques which was to be expected, but flattering nonetheless! As I listened to Mr Drew praise my drawing I concluded that the man was rather friendly and hospitable, he’s definitely passionate about his cartoon that’s for sure, going on about all the ideas he had for the show and saying he had big plans in store._

_It’s nice to see someone with the same drive as me._

_The interview ended with him shaking my hand and welcoming me to the studio with a big grin akin to the little toon. I didn’t know how to react at first, standing there with my jaw almost hitting the floor (I must’ve looked so shocked!), I mean he just gave me my dream job right on the spot! He gave me a slight slap to the back, his hand remaining there as he ushered me out of the room and further into the studio, saying that if I were to start working here it was only right he give me a tour of the place._

_The studio itself was pretty old, if the dust and cobwebs were anything to go by and it didn’t seem to matter where you stepped, the floorboards creaked if you put even the smallest of weight on them, it was pretty magical actually, like being in a dream. The tour began with walking throughout the halls and entering through different doors into another hallway (the place is like a maze!) until we reached the animation department, which mostly consisted of an old wooden desk and a chair in front, all tucked away into a little corner. A little odd and reminded me of the small, cramped space I had back at the Pym offices but Mr Drew had said it was so the animators could focus more on their work than on their surroundings or colleagues. I suppose he has a point._

_The next room we stopped at was the break room. It had dim lighting but was well furnished with; chairs, a table which had some cards splayed out on the wooden surface, a rather comfy looking couch with a few stray ink splotches and finally, a small black stove braced against the wall. Mr Drew said that a lot of the employees sometimes stayed to work overnight, especially when a deadline was coming up, and so he had the stove installed so that the workers could eat a proper meal before heading back to work. “It’s important to stay healthy whilst you work and I wouldn’t want any of my colleagues to feel low on energy!” Mr Drew had said, a cheery and noble tune to his voice, this guy really is something else. Mr Drew made his way back up the steep wooden steps we had descended into the room, cheerily talking about the cartoon and the next department we were to visit. I took one last look around the room, the scent of bacon wafting in my nose, the small dust motes that fell from the ceiling and the array of promotional posters adorned along the walls, each stating the title of the episode with a drawing of Bendy on some adventure. It was cute, more homely than anything and I would’ve liked to spend more time taking it all in but Mr Drew had ascended the steps and was calling my name. Apparently Mr Drew had to have a short talk to the music director and he thought he might as well bring me along to make an introduction but that the music director (Sammy I believe he had called him) wasn’t much for patience with other people and that we might make haste._

~~0~~

Bendy’s eyes roamed over the crinkled page, small huffs rising in anger as he reads more on his creator, an occasional growl clawing its way up his throat, trying to ward off any terrors that the words may invoke. Joey was always a conniving and manipulative guy in the background, his honeyed words and false smile a mask to fool those he suckered into working for him. Sweet sayings to make you think he was pure of heart, hah! The man was foul and grotesque and deserved to rot. Bendy shivers, unwanted memories making a hum beneath his ink. Soft, breathy calls from the past, trying to lure him into madness again. He wouldn’t go back, not yet. He wouldn’t listen to that other mind, the being only whispering mad things and lies. No, he resolves to keep reading, ignoring the mellow hums of angered cries. Just for a little a longer.

~~0~~ 

_The walk to the music department was short and peaceful, occasionally stopping to introduce myself to passing employees. Mr Drew kept a languid pace, odd seeing as he had said the director didn’t like to be kept waiting. I inquire as to our slow pace and the directors lack of patience, Mr Drew replies with a jovial “it’s always fun to make Sammy wait, consider it revenge”. That had me a little worried._

_“Revenge for what?” I had cautiously inquired, perhaps the two didn’t have a great relationship and were using me as a catalyst for their feud. I would like to hope not._

_“hmm, well you see, Sammy has a bad habit of being rather snappy towards people, so this is just a small revenge you see?” again, replying with that same jovial tone, the odd undertone of malice flickering in and out, though his posture remains the same. Stood tall and relaxed, shoulders slightly slacking and a small smile present on his face. His eyes distant as if in thought. I should make a note not to get on Mr Drew’s bad side, he seemed to take great pleasure in the upcoming argument. I simply nod my understanding and continued walking._

_“And besides” he had begun “Sammy always plays best when he thinks he’s alone” a small wink is sent my way._

_I had looked at him in puzzlement before I could hear the faint tunes of a banjo down the hallway. The melody was soft and thrummed with life, each pluck of the string capturing my attention as it filled the hall with its merriment and sombre song. It was like being transported to a different realm, everything falling away as I had unconsciously closed my eyes, trying to sync with the music more. It was beautiful. Beside me, Mr Drew hums along to the tune, although I can say I’ve never heard of anything like it before, his face peaceful and loose, a smile still haunting his lips._

_Before I know it we had arrived at Sammy’s office and Mr Drew pushes through the great oak door with a flourish, the sound of clapping knocking me out of my reverie and it appeared the same could be said for Sammy, the sound of wood knocking against wood as Sammy snaps from his own trance and drops his banjo. His surprised, youthful face melting away into an old snarl towards Mr Drew as he makes his way towards Sammy’s desk. The harsh claps of his hands faltering for a mere second before making small talk with Sammy. I had stood there in the doorway, still feeling a little dazed and mostly awkward, Mr Drew having momentarily forgotten me to congratulate Sammy on his beautiful rendition of Mozart. The praise is met with taut words and a heated stare._

_Sammy gestures to me after a while, asking if I’m the new guy, to which Mr Drew enthusiastically replies that I am and that he was just giving me a tour of the place. Sammy huffs, rubs his face and replies why the hell was Joey bringing an animator down this way just for an introduction, he’s a busy man, and he doesn’t have time for this. Mr Drew promptly replies that if Sammy has time to slack off and play his banjo he has time to make introductions. I couldn’t see Mr Drew’s face, his back being to me but Sammy’s frown seemed to drop a fraction further before he stands and stalks over to me. As he approaches I notice the dark, heavy bags under his eyes, the faint lines on his skin from all that possible frowning and I notice how cold and distant his eyes seem._

_“Well? Ya gonna shake my hand or what?” he had snapped. I hadn’t even realised he had stuck his hand out for me to shake (how rude of me!) and quickly take it in my own, a quick exchange of welcoming being given. He retracts his hand and stuffs it into his pocket. “I’m Sammy, music director for the show, although I have a feeling you already know that” he side eyes Mr Drew, harsh like winter and Mr Drew simply waves back at him, ignoring the anger laced in Sammy’s words. We talk then, just a small bit, telling him my own name and such although I feel a slight hindrance to do so, he is very intimidating._

_For a moment we lapse into silence and before Mr Drew can jump back into the conversation and pester Sammy, said music director promptly pushes us out of his office and bites a “goodbye” through gritted teeth. How charming. Mr Drew just laughs and says that went surprisingly well, considering Sammy is usually more spiteful to new people. My expression must have been rather worried looking as Mr Drew simply says that he’ll get used to me in no time and who knows, we might even be friends. I decided not to make a statement on that._

__~~0~~_ _

Bendy lets out something akin to a snort, his breathe coming out in a long huff. Go figures that Sammy was still as spiteful in his youth as he was when Bendy came to be, always with the snarls and cold eyes. Bendy remembers the cries of outrage as he flooded the music director’s office, cursing and spluttering and falling in the ink. Oh those were good times. 

__Tired yawns masked pained cries, heavy bags under his eyes, a taut and tight smile when he had to. But that’s only what people saw on the outside. Sammy was a man of music, whenever he had the chance you can bet he’d be playing that old banjo of his, sweet melodies they were, always gentle and lulling you into relaxing, carrying sombre lyrics if he felt like it. Truly Sammy was one of a kind, snarky and ill-mannered as he was, he had a cracked heart of gold._ _

__A faint memory, like the flutter of a birds wings, sings at the back of Bendy’s mind. An old memory but a good one, as someone peers from around a corner, agitation vibrating throughout their body, to find a young Sammy Lawrence crouched low, muttering soft words to a distressed child. It appears the child has lost his toy and no adults seem to be around. A dangerous place to get lost, the toy workshop, too many winding mechanisms the child could get trapped in. Sammy coos at the child, picks them up in his arms and heads over to Shaun’s workshop. The memory flickers and wavers before being replaced with a new one, this time the person viewing the scene is surrounded by small children, tired but keeping up a pleasant façade for the little ones, each asking different questions about the cartoons. Sammy is nowhere to be seen. As the person begins to talk, their voice sounding static and warbled, a small child trots from around a corner to join his classmates, a small bendy plush clutched tightly to his chest. The man speaking looks up in the direction the child had come from to see Sammy taking off back around the corner, a small, soft smile on his face._ _

__A good memory and a very rare one at that. Sammy always had a soft spot for kids, which when Franks had found out, loved to tease him about. But how odd. For what purpose did Sammy of all people have down at the toy workshop?_ _

__Bendy breaks from his musing. This is dangerous he knows. To remember so many things at once but he was getting close, he could feel it. Close to unlocking something, he need only bear a few more pains and he would finally have his answers._ _

__He reads on._ _

__~~0~~_ _

_After leaving the music department and the foreboding aura of Sammy behind we continue on our way to our last stop, the screening room, to meet a man called Norman Polk. Along the way, Mr Drew talks animatedly about the cartoon, I tried to ask questions and make my own comments but the man was on such a roll that I couldn’t get a word in edge ways. I continued to walk in silence more than happy to listen to him talk._

__

_Whilst on our way to the screening room, we meet with a young black man, unruly black hair and, when he took note of our approach, an even more unruly smile to match. He carried a pail of inky black water in one hand and a mop in his other, held forward as it were a staff of some kind to ward of any ill luck. He greets us with a smile and gives me a once over. Mr Drew introduces me and we make small talk, the occasional joke flitting back and forth at Mr Drew’s expense and to my embarrassment. The man’s name is Wally Franks, janitor to the studio and, through Mr Drew’s words, the crown fool of the studio. A wink is sent my way upon being told that, he seems a rather coy fellow if the smirks and winks are anything to go by. But it was odd, I recall Mr Drew seeming rather irritated by his snickers, as if they carried more malice than what was being intended. How odd. He let a sigh out, long and tiring, says “Welp, this place ain’t gonna clean itself” and leaves, his smirk falling a bit. Despite his cocky attitude I sensed that he did not enjoy his job very much._

____

_As soon as Wally is out of sight, Mr Drew lets out a small sigh, says to not take any of Wally’s future pranks too seriously and that he apologises in advance for his colleague’s antics. I simply wave him off and tell him not to worry. Surely he can’t be that bad?_

____

_The rest of the walk to the screening room is mostly silent, Mr Drew keeping his head forward and posture straight. He definitely seems to carry authority. Having thought that at the time it made me look back on Hank and how similar the two are. Very well kept, neat and tidy individuals, an intelligent glint to their eyes. The difference being that Mr Drew always seemed to have a smile on his face, a light and jovial tone even when dealing with people he didn’t like. Far different from Hank. Lost in my thoughts again I am brought back by a soft nudge, Mr Drew asks if I’m ok and I stammer and say that I am. We had arrived at the screening room and entered._

____

_Before us were two to three rows of chairs messily disorganised in front of a blank wall, a square of light shining down to create a panel on the old wood. A few instruments were laid about the room, a discarded cello, a big drum propped in the corner and a solitary piano to the other side, its lid open invitingly. Mr Drew gives the room a quick survey and calls out Norman’s name but it heeds no reply. Having said that upon entering the room I had felt as if I were being watched and can say that was indeed the case as the projectionist himself pops up behind us out of nowhere, startling both of us. I nervously chuckle as Mr Drew swings round and scolds Norman. The man replies with a “did you not hear me come down the stairs?” and Mr Drew laughs. The two bicker a few more moments before Mr Drew introduces me to Norman. I take note that he’s quite tall and has a knowing look about his eyes._

____

_He stares at me a few moments, and I feel a sense of foreboding, he asks “do you know a guy name Pym?” and I freeze. My first day here and already someone has outed me as being the previous co-manager for Pym and co. or so I thought as I reply with a calm “no”, sweat trickling down my back. He shrugs his shoulders and continues on with introductions and how the screening room works, seemingly dissuaded from my connection to Hank, though were he made the connection to begin with still eludes me. I ignore Mr Drew’s curious glances and shrug my shoulders in turn, hopefully that is enough to deter him for some time, though lady luck is never one to favour me for long._

__

_I discuss the screening room at length with Norman, hoping that he’s forgotten about the subject all together and we end the conversation with the authoritative nonchalance of Mr Drew proclaiming that time for touring the studio was up. Something about an upcoming deadline and financing that needed attending to. I give my regards to Norman and as we leave the lit up room I felt the burning of his eyes never leaving my form, I’ll have to keep an eye out for him whilst I’m here._

__

__~~0~~_ _

__

__Bendy had a certain fondness for Wally, mainly for the fact he loved mischief as much as he did when first coming to the world, and he was a great scape goat for all his pranks. Not that Joey could really scold the little toon for his mischief when every other living being inside the studio had no idea he existed physically. Bendy also thought that Wally would have made for a good friend, someone to talk to and make mischief together. But those were dreams of folly he knew and he had kept his presence hidden from most at the time. He thought it a shame as to what happened to Wally but then again, nothing full of life and joy lasts long down here._ _

__

___Most_ being the key word there, as despite his efforts the little toon could not keep his playful antics at bay when regarding Norman. The man was a difficulty to get a rise out of and in Bendy’s short time he tried to get the man to jump or squeal just once. And he went too far and paid the price for it, or rather Norman did. It was only meant to be a small trick, something simple that was sure to get a rise out of the silent man but much to Bendy’s negligence at the time, he failed to hear the approaching footsteps and was seen momentarily by him. He had the feeling that Norman didn’t much like him, his hard stare always following the ink demons form wherever he was, his cool optics burning holes into his form as he roamed around his domain. Even when he was out of sight, he could still feel his projected gaze seeking him out from the shadows. Bendy tended to avoid him from then on in if he could and always carried a niggling sense of guilt at his unfavourable demise. If Joey wanted something to stay secret it would be held so by any means. _ _

__

__~~0~~_ _

__

_Mr Drew ends the tour with seeing me to the front door, sunlight pouring forth into the studio, and tells me he’ll see me next Monday fresh and early to start work. I’ll be given a more in depth description of the workings of the animation department on Monday I suppose. That day when I left the comforting warmth of the studio and into the brittle cold air of January, I felt happy. Though as I say, lady luck only gives her favours on short terms bases as I arrived to my small apartment. I entered to find the place ransacked. Luckily the vial and journal had managed to stay hidden and untouched. I wonder if I could hide it at the studio, there are plenty of places to hide them and I doubt that S.H.I.E.L.D. would think to look there, it is better than keeping them here where they may be found._

__

__~~0~~_ _

__

__With the end of the entry Bendy is left with impossibly more questions than he started out with. It makes his head ache impossibly more and his vision blurs slightly. It would seem he has pushed his own luck a bit far today, the voices cased within his ink, squirming around, chattering relentlessly. He places the tattered book upon the desk, beginning to weary of reading and notices a small face on the bottom of the page. It’s his face. His old one. With eyes full of joy and mischief and a big grin to match. A couple of lines are wobbly and then Bendy feels himself swaying and suddenly it’s all too much. The memories surge beneath his ink, pressing and rippling against his body, trying to force their knowledge unto him with overwhelming strength._ _

__

__Bendy can hear them, the faint chatter of co-workers passing through the halls, the scratch of pen to paper as an animator inks out his star creation of the studio with a fluid grace, the cursed mumbles of Joey as he pours over a leather bound book, scratching symbols and jumbled words onto a piece of bloodied paper. His form sinks to the ground, heavy drops of ink falling at his sudden descent to pool on the floor, his clawed hands raking at his face to try and free himself from the stinging sounds and fractured images. He remembers everything in that short time, writhing in pain on the floor as image after gory image wracks his body with shock. He fights with himself trying to unsee all the crimson ink that stains a pentagram by his feet, projecting a fiery glare about the room. He tries to block out all the sound too but it does nothing except ricochet around his head with more force. He knew reading the journal would cost him some sacrifice but to this extent he had not expected._ _

__

__What a fool he was, hmm?_ _

__

__Bendy knows the best way to handle the situation is to let the ink takes its course, thrumming and throbbing throughout his entire body , slowly diminishing him in size as huge globs of ink stream from his body still. But he couldn’t, the rage and pain coinciding to rip a roar, more similar to that of a human cry of pain and a demons murderous growl, from his throat and thunder throughout the studio._ _

__

__And all the while the tattered journal that sat silent and forgotten, lay open atop the desk, the doodle of Bendy staring sightlessly up to the ceiling, its mouth now casting an ominous and cruel grin._ _

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey your still here???  
> well this was a doozy to get out but i hoped you all enjoyed the update, so please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey you made it to the end!  
> well hello there dear readers, are you wondering when ill next update? have any pending questions that your just dying to ask? well fear not, for i have the solution!  
> you can bug me on my tumblr phoena12  
> buh bai! \\*-*/


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